


every brilliant thing

by orphan_account



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Depression, F/F, F/M, M/M, Recovery, Suicide Attempt, slightly ooc but he’s recovering and growing up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-07-31 08:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20111806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Coping with loss is not easy. It never has been.or, how Neil works through the five stages of grief.currently on hiatus.





	1. denial

**Author's Note:**

> please pay attention to dates! this story is not chronological and it will not make sense if you don’t notice the dates.  
also, this story could definitely be very triggering for people so take care and please be kind to yourselves

_ December 25th, 2017 _

Neil woke up to bitter cold. Snow in South Carolina was rare, and an inch at most, but the frost had settled thickly over Palmetto that day. Stuart’s house felt hollow in the winter; there just weren’t enough bodies living there to provide warmth.

Neil swung his legs out of bed and rubbed his eyes blearily, before realizing today-

It was _ Christmas. _He would spend today with the Dobsons. It was the tradition he had held for every Christmas for the last five years, rain or shine. Andrew would be there, and Neil hadn’t seen Andrew in weeks-

The dream fell as quickly as it arrived. It just wouldn’t happen. Neil would be surprised if he could ever go back to the Dobsons’ house after what had happened. He couldn’t face a house that was so crowded with memories, both good and bad. 

Neil slumped back in bed. The text from Betsy Dobson had arrived yesterday, on Christmas Eve. If you had asked Neil three weeks ago what he was going to be doing on Christmas Eve, Neil would’ve said that he would be watching Harry Potter with Andrew and Nicky and Erik, another tradition that Andrew would never admit that he liked. He never would have said, or even imagined, this.

The text was short: _ the funeral date is officially January 3rd. both you and Stuart are invited _.

Neil had eight days to decide whether he wanted to go.

He pulled on a hoodie and slowly slid out of the room, cranking up the thermostat as he went downstairs. The windows in their kitchen only showed a smoky, clouded sky, the fog settling thickly over Palmetto. Stuart was still asleep in the other room; the Christmas tree was barren and limp. Uncle Stuart never even bought Neil presents anymore, just expecting that Betsy would buy enough to compensate. Neil didn’t blame him.

Stuart, like every year, just expected that Neil would be celebrating the holiday with Betsy and Andrew and the Hemmicks, instead of with Stuart. But instead Betsy was off at a funeral parlor picking out fucking coffin interiors and Andrew was rotting in an icy morgue and Aaron was sitting in a jar of ashes and Nicky was depressed on the other side of the world and Neil was stuck in a house that no one even lived in and the world was fucked. Absolutely fucked.

The sky was grey outside. Neil sat and made himself a cup of tea, steaming hot. But the world outside stayed cold and grey. Always grey.

_ January 3rd, 2018 _

Neil stayed up until the sky paled, and then fell asleep just before the sun rose. He slept in much later than he should have. It was the insistent chiming of his phone that finally woke him.

_ incoming call from: kevin day _

Neil let the phone ring, and ring, and ring, until it went to voicemail. There was silence for a few minutes, before Kevin texted him instead.

_ are you coming? _read the text.

Neil stared at the words for a minute, before rolling over groggily and ignoring it.

_March 31st, 2017_

It was the kind of year where spring had come early. Way, way too early.

The sky outside was bright and blue, and the heat was unbearable. Neil had barely managed to escape from the “get-together” Uncle Stuart had thrown for Neil’s birthday (which was really just for him and the Exy team) with a slice of chocolate cake and two forks, and had gone to hide inside his room.

Andrew was waiting for him, reading one of Neil’s long forgotten childhood books, and tucked into the corner by the air conditioning vent.

“Hogging the air conditioning?” Neil teased. Andrew gave him a flat look and didn’t bother replying. Instead, he shifted over slightly so that Neil could sit down next to him.

“You brought me cake?” asked Andrew.

“Happy birthday, I suppose.”

Andrew snorted. “You’re about, oh, five months too late.”

Neil lifted his hand over Andrew’s and waited for a nod. When Andrew gave it, Neil tangled their fingers together.

“I brought _ us _cake,” Neil corrected. “It’s my birthday and I want to spend it with you.”

Andrew arched an eyebrow. “Not with the rest of the stickball team outside?”

Neil understood the message underneath Andrew’s words, the veiled insecurity, and met it with a reassurance of his own. “Yes or no?”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “To what.”

“To giving you a bite of cake.”

“That’s gross,” Andrew said. “Yes.”

He obligingly opened his mouth and Neil somehow managed to smear chocolate frosting over the side of his mouth. Andrew looked down, unamused.

“Yes or no?” Neil asked mischievously.

“To what,” Andrew said.

“To kissing you,” Neil said.

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “You planned this all out, didn’t you.”

“Maybe I did,” Neil teased. “Yes?”

Andrew nodded, and Neil leaned over and kissed the side of Andrew’s mouth, kissed him again, before shuddering back and saying, “You taste like chocolate. It’s too sweet.”

“Shocking,” Andrew deadpanned.

“Shut up and kiss me again.” Neil whispered.

This time Andrew leaned in first, putting his hand under Neil’s jaw and lifting his chin up. Neil forgot all about his birthday, about everyone in the other room, and let himself fall into a hazy dream of Andrew. He slumped sideways and put his head in Andrew’s lap and let Andrew’s warmth take him away.

_April 17th, 2015 _

Neil first learned about Andrew’s self harm in the week before nationals. They were lying in bed together, Andrew’s back to the wall, Neil’s back to the rest of the room.

Neil raised his hand to Andrew’s face and waited for his nod. When it came, Neil smoothed his fingers over Andrew’s cheek, tracing absent patterns in his skin.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Neil muttered drowsily. “Why do you never take off your armbands?”

Andrew paused. “The tan lines, of course.” The joke fell flat.

“Ha,” Neil said. He hesitated. “Do you not want to tell me?”

Andrew paused again, but the silence was longer. Neil moved his hand away from Andrew’s face and edged slightly backwards. “I don’t care.”

“That means that you do.”

Floored, Andrew was silenced for a few seconds. “I don’t want to tell you.”

“Then that’s okay.”

Neil left the conversation at that.

But the pieces were finally coming together. The fact that the armbands never came off, not even in summer, but they only did when he was wearing long sleeves in the winter; the bandaids pushed down to the bottom of the trash that were stained with blood. First aid supplies in the Dobsons’ house that would go missing. The shaving razor that Neil had found three months ago with the blades popped out of it. Andrew didn’t want to tell Neil the truth, but Neil wasn’t oblivious to it.

It was later that month. They had fallen asleep, but Neil had woken up unusually earlier than Andrew. It took him a few moments to fade into reality, and he shifted around, trying to find a better sleeping position. He turned around to face Andrew, and saw his sleeve was slightly pushed up; the white and red and pink cross hatching was all too apparent in the low light.

Without thinking, Neil breathed, “Andrew, what-”

The words were enough to wake him up.

Andrew saw the scene in a second. He yanked his arm back violently and scrambled to sit against the wall. His chest rose and fell frantically. Neil scrambled off the bed too and stood five, ten feet away. Andrew dug his nails into his arm and clenched tight. Neil watched the panic recede slowly. It was four AM.

“I’m sorry,” Neil said desperately. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Andrew looked at him, but for a brief moment, Neil thought that Andrew was seeing someone else.

_ Who are you seeing? _“Andrew, it’s me. I’m Neil Abram Josten, you know who I am.”

Andrew seemed to shake himself back into reality. “You saw.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Andrew said quietly, his words tinted with desperation. “You can’t tell anyone, not even Bee, not _ anyone _.”

“I won’t,” Neil said, bordering on panic. “I promise.”

“If you tell anyone I’ll kill you.” Neil had never doubted Andrew less.

“Are you-” Neil couldn’t seem to find words. “You’re not going to kill yourself.” This one was a question, not a statement. When Andrew didn’t respond immediately, Neil stepped back towards the bed. “Andrew, answer me.”

“No.” Andrew said. With definite finality, he added, “I’m not.”

_ March 31st, 2018_

Neil had known about the depression. He had known for years.

He was naive, not stupid. He had seen the crosshatches of scars on Andrew’s arms. Neil had remained silent.

He wished with all his heart, with all his power, that he had spoken up.

Neil had remained silent.

That was what hurt the most.

Why didn’t he say something? He should have said _ something. _ He should have said something, anything, anything to anyone if it meant that Andrew would still be standing with him, still next to him, still _ with him- _

Neil had _remained_ _silent_.

That was what hurt the most- the fact that he was to blame.

Today was Neil’s birthday, and it was the first birthday in at least six years that he would celebrate without Andrew. He was drinking, and he could recognize vaguely that Uncle Stuart would be upset if he saw how much Neil was drinking. The air smelled like cigarette smoke.

Neil stood up, dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, and shuddered at the way the world spun before his eyes. He grabbed his keys from where they hung on a coat rack, only just remembered to grab a jacket and an umbrella from his room, and stepped into Andrew’s Maserati. With his heart in his throat, Neil drove to the cemetery.

It was silent, cold, and still. A bouquet of wilted flowers leaned against the marble.

Neil sat down on the cold, hard dirt, uncaring about the way the rain and the mud seeped into his clothes, and stared at the marble.

He hadn’t attended the funeral. He hadn’t helped to bury Andrew. He hadn’t really done anything that day except lie on his back, empty and breathless, and stare at the grey ceiling. He had seen nothing.

He had pulled on one of Andrew’s hoodies (the ugly oversized one that was from a concert but got stained from the time Andrew made brownies with Neil, which had gone awfully), curled up, held the small, fragile memory of Andrew and the warmth of his body in bed close to him.

Today, the only sounds in the cemetery were the silent rustle of the wind through the trees, and the quiet splashing of rain. Andrew’s gravestone was in a wide open field, surrounded by dozens of other identical ones. Neil sat and stared at the marble stone that said _ Andrew Joseph Minyard. November 4th 1999-December 18th 2017 _chiseled into it.

And then underneath, the epitaph read:_ Until we meet again. _

The land that covered Andrew was cold and frozen solid. Neil reached out and traced his fingers along the carvings, feeling every groove in the marble. He felt an odd emotion rising in his throat, a curdled sour one that choked him up and rose like bile. He sat back and counted as high as he could in every language he could think of, his breaths became faster and faster, and he was trying his best to stave off the panic attack that was approaching him like a tidal wave.

_ He’s not gone, _ he repeated frantically. _ He’s not, he’s not, he’s not- _

“Neil?” Renee’s voice was soft. “What are you doing here?”

Neil flinched so badly that it took him a few seconds to regain awareness. “Renee?”

She slowly came into focus through Neil’s blurry eyes. “I’m here to put these down.” She gestured vaguely to the flowers in her arms. “I didn’t expect to see anyone here.”

Neil took a few measured breaths. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m about to leave, anyway.”

He turned to go, but Renee grabbed his arm before he could get too far away. “Are you sure you want to leave? I come here on weekends and tell him about my week. You can stay if you want.”

Neil found himself nodding without meaning to. Renee took a seat and gestured for Neil to sit next to her. She swallowed and started talking.

Her voice was soft, and Neil found himself following her voice and her words. She told him about a test in physics that she had failed and the conversation with her teacher afterwards about extra credit. She talked about a date she had gone on with Allison and the new ice cream flavor at Sweetie’s. She mentioned the kids she was teaching karate to, and how excited they were the first day to learn. She told Andrew about her life and her actions, how her week had gone, both good and bad, and talked and talked and talked into thin air. The ground absorbed all of it in silence, never once offering a reply.

Renee cleared her throat. “It’s also Neil’s birthday, Andrew. He’s turning eighteen today.” She offered a small smile towards Neil, who did not reciprocate, and instead stared at the ground in silence. “I know he misses you. Someday he might feel ready enough to talk, but maybe not right now.” Renee slowly got up, and wiped her hands on her jeans. “I’ll see you next week, Andrew. Rest easy.”

She offered a hand to Neil, who took it silently. Renee gave him a reassuring smile. “Happy birthday, Neil.” Her white hair swayed in the wind, and she blurred in and out of Andrew and Renee, Renee and Andrew, two sides of the same coin.

Neil went into the backseat of the Maserati and slept. When he woke up, it was raining. Renee’s car was gone.

_ January 19th, 2018 _

Neil’s second semester of senior year had officially started. In German, Ms. Harris had come up to him and said, in a sickenly patronizing voice, _ Neil, I understand that you will have extenuating circumstances for this semester. If you need someone, the school counselor is always available. _

Extenuating circumstances? What the fuck does that mean? That everyone pities him because his boyfriend killed himself?

Everyone looked at him like he was the broken one. Everyone looked at him like he was the one who needed help. But no one had ever given Andrew a second glance. No one had _ ever _ given Andrew the help he needed.

Neil successfully made it through a full hour and a half before anyone from the Exy team tried to talk to him, which was an incredible feat in itself. But the second the bell signaling the end of first period rang, Neil found himself being cornered by the one and only Allison Reynolds.

True to tradition, Allison was wearing class colors in bright orange and white, and four inch heels for the first day of the semester, and she towered over Neil. Neil didn’t bother trying to escape. He knew this was coming, and there really was no escaping Allison.

“Where,” she said, enunciating every word, “have you been all winter?”

“At home,” Neil said sullenly.

Allison pursed her lips. “For the entire winter break?”

Neil glared at her. “Yes.”

“You didn’t leave even for eating out?”

“UberEats does exist,” Neil muttered stubbornly. “It’s not like I just starved all winter.”

Allison eyed him up and down purposefully. “You sure about that?”

“So what?” Neil said angrily. “I’ve had enough. What does it matter anyways?”

“I just want to know why you didn’t talk to _ anyone _ over winter break.” Allison continued. “We’re your support system, Neil. We’re supposed to be here for you. You can’t just block us out of your life anytime a crisis happens-”

“A crisis?” Neil said suddenly. “You call this a fucking crisis?”

“I-”

“He killed himself, Allison!” Neil gave a wild and emphatic jerk of his hand. “This isn’t a goddamn crisis anymore, this is real life. This isn’t something you can just solve with some shopping or- or-”

Allison gave him a meaningful look and dragged him over behind the science building, where there weren’t as many people around. “I misspoke. I’m sorry, Neil. You’re right. This isn’t a crisis.”

Breathing hard, Neil glanced at the ground. “It doesn’t matter anymore, does it.”

“That’s not true,” Allison said immediately. “It does matter.”

“None of you guys even liked him,” Neil muttered. “I heard every single time you called him monster or made jokes about him, and now he’s dead and no one ever gave him the help he needed.”

Allison took all the information in, and gave no sign to show how much Neil’s words hurt her. Instead, she took a deep breath and started talking.

“Remember when you were going through the lawsuit with your dad?” Gingerly, Neil nodded. “When that was happening, none of us coudl even get to you in months. You were at practices, but you were so empty that it was like talking to a brick wall. All you could focus on was winning nationals. But I would hear you, back when I was vomiting in the bathroom after practices, and I would come out and hear you sobbing, Neil. It was awful. I _ knew _there was something in you that needed to get out, and only Andrew was able to get through to you. You never let the rest of us in. We weren’t ever able to help you.

“I know what it’s like to scream into the dark and hope that someone hears, okay? Because I’m lucky as hell that I found Matt and Dan and Renee to help me. And I know you had Andrew, but I want you to know that all of us are here for you.”

“That’s not going to bring him back,” Neil said acidly. “None of that is. You know what could bring him back? If five years ago _ anyone _was willing to give him the goddamn help that he needed, if anyone was even willing to try to get through to him-”

“Neil, you did everything you could.” said Allison. “You can’t blame yourself-”

“Allison, you don’t understand.” Neil snapped and clenched his fists. “I didn’t- I _ didn’t _ do everything I could. I knew about it! I knew about the- the-“ Neil couldn’t bring himself to say self harm, so he gestured to his arm in a vague explanation, “I didn’t tell anyone. I should’ve told someone- I should’ve done _ anything.” _

Allison took everything in with a blank face and gave no pity or no sadness in her expression. Instead, she just squared her shoulders and started speaking again.

“Okay, so you didn’t do what you should’ve done. But you can’t have regret, Neil. Because regret just eats and eats away at you and all it does is rot. You did your best and that is all anyone can ever expect from you. No matter how pathetic you think your best was, that doesn’t matter. You did your best for you.”

Neil flicked his eyes upwards and met Allison’s. She held his gaze fiercely.

“And it’ll take time. Of course it will. No one expects you to stop grieving overnight. But you’re alive. You’re surviving. You are going to move on.”

Neil slid down the wall and Allison followed him down. The bell had rung five minutes ago, and everyone had dissolved into their classes. There was no one to see Neil’s shoulders shaking with sobs but Allison.

“I miss him so much, Ally,” Neil said miserably, slowly, sounding utterly alone. “Every day it gets worse.”

Allison sat there in silence, before saying quietly, “I miss him too.”

_ December 10th, 2017 _

Third period. AP Lit. Neil and Andrew sat in the back and Neil doodled, Andrew memorized, both waiting for the bell to ring for lunch.

Neil’s phone buzzed silently against his leg. He sent a curious glance over to Andrew, at the next desk over, before opening his texts.

_ from: andrew _

_ neil im fucking losing it _

Neil hid a grin in his copy of Crime and Punishment. He texted back quickly:

_ from: junkie _

_ ..what _

_ from: andrew _

_ look at kevin and thea _

Neil flicked a glance over to Andrew, sitting perfectly still with his best poker face on, as if he was paying complete attention to the teacher, while Kevin and Thea were absorbed in the weirdest mating ritual Neil had ever seen. They were caught in a silent argument and Kevin.. was Kevin blushing? Neil looked back at Andrew and saw the corner of Andrew’s mouth twitching up into a wry smile.

_ from: junkie _

_ NO _

_ from: junkie _

_ stop it!!! dont make me laugh _

_ from: andrew _

_ they should just fuck and get it over with already _

_ from: andrew _

_ the sexual tension on the court would go Way down and thats seriously all i ask for these days _

_ from: junkie _

_ and take all the fun out of practice? how could u _

“Which brings us to which key theme, Mr. Josten?” Hearing his name startled Neil and he looked up suddenly. “Or are you too interested in your phone?”

“Um, it brings us to,” Neil looked around at his desk in search of an answer and landed on a worksheet of Crime and Punishment. “To, um, that the anxiety of anticipating punishment is worse than the actual punishment itself?”

Mr. Bryson lifted his eyebrows. “Shallow analysis, Mr. Josten. Perhaps Mr. Minyard can help clarify this point in the novel.”

Without missing a beat, Andrew replied, “Raskolnikov’s inner torment supports Neil’s idea, but the deeper meaning that Dostoyevsky shows is that Raskolnikov’s superiority complex is what causes him the most stress in the end. When he thinks of himself as superior, he alienates himself from people who are trying to support him through this unknown process, and this alienation from society causes him more stress. Raskolnikov’s psyche is hurt more by alienation from society than by the murder itself.” Andrew flipped to the next page and kept reading. As if he had said nothing.

Mr. Bryson nodded in satisfaction. “An excellent analysis, Mr. Minyard. I couldn’t have said it better myself.” With an eyebrow raised at Neil, he said, “Perhaps try reading the novel next time, Mr. Josten, instead of Sparknotes.”

Neil scowled into his book as his phone buzzed again.

_ from: andrew _

_ truly the worst analysis i've ever heard. utterly awful. i can't believe u dared to speak in this class _

_ from: junkie _

_ listen we GET it ur smart _

_ from: junkie _

_ i can’t believe there's room for both your brain and ur ego in your head it's just unbelievable _

_ from: andrew _

_ five minutes left of class tick tock _

“I expect to see you all here bright and early for the final next week.” Mr. Bryson said. “Bring your copies of Medea, Crime and Punishment, and the Canterbury Tales. There will be no copies here for you! And there will be no sharing of novels during the test! So come prepared.”

The minute hand had only gone three little spaces while the teacher was talking. They still had a whole two minutes left in this class. Neil silently urged on the clock in his mind. Mr. Bryson kept talking and Neil tuned him out in his mind as white noise.

“So I expect to see good essays from everyone!” Finally, the bell rang bright and cheerfully, and Neil zipped up his backpack and zoomed right out of class. The sun was bright, even though it was barely fifty degrees outside. Andrew followed him out and to the Maserati.

“Where to?” Neil asked.

Andrew gave him a look. “You think I’m letting you drive my car?”

Neil grinned smugly. “Then who gave me a key, asshole?”

In response, Andrew slid into the passenger seat, which Neil took as a silent confirmation of him winning. They waited there for the customary three minutes for Kevin and Nicky to arrive, Kevin after talking to Mr. Bryson like he did every class, Nicky from Spanish on the other side of campus. The second they both sat down, Neil revved the engine and slid out onto the street.

“Chipotle?” Nicky said questioningly. Andrew twisted around to look at Nicky in disbelief.

“Next you’re going to say we should go to Panda Express for quality Chinese food.”

“Panda _ is _quality Chinese food!”

Andrew looked over at Neil. “If you speed up a little bit and I pull the wheel, what’s the bet that I’ll kill myself before I hear Nicky say something else stupid?”

Neil looked over sharply. “Not funny, Drew.” _ Ah, fuck. _Andrew thought. Here we go again.

“The Mexican place on 3rd off of 280.” Kevin butted in, right before the situation got worse. “I vote there.”

Neil heaved a sigh before breaking his gaze away from Andrew and back on the road. “Sure thing, Kev.” Across from him, Andrew leaned against the window and schooled his face into apathy. The Conversation was coming with Neil. Andrew hated The Conversation.

Neil slid into the parking lot and let Kevin and Nicky hop out. “Get me horchata and a salad.”

”A salad? At a Mexican place?” Nicky complained. 

“Burrito,” Andrew said vaguely, interrupting Nicky, otherwise preoccupied.

Nicky grinned gleefully. “Will do. Have fun, you two!” Neil only rolled his eyes in response and pulled back out of the lot.

Neil noticed Andrew fiddling surreptitiously with the door lock and pressed it down, hard. Andrew sensed the growing impatience in the car and sighed heavily.

Neil started The Conversation, like he did every time. “What was that about, Drew?”

It had officially started. The script was the same every time.

“What was what about?” Andrew sounded bored. Disinterested. All a part of The Conversation.

Neil pressed his lips together. “I don’t like it when you joke about killing yourself.”

“I know you don’t.”

“It scares me.”

A pause. “I know it does.”

“Promise me that you’re safe, Andrew.” Neil said. “I need you to promise me that you’re safe.”

“I’m safe,” Andrew said dully.

“You promise?” Neil sounded hesitant and uncertain. When Andrew looked over, Neil’s gaze was filled with worry.

“I promise that I’m safe.”

“Okay,” Neil murmured. “Thank you.”

The car was silent for three, four, five minutes. Andrew tapped his fingers on the car door and tried to swim his way through the suffocating tension in the car.

“Yes or no?” Andrew finally asked. This was how The Conversation always ended. Neil asked, Andrew promised, they kissed. The same, every time. It was a given that The Conversation would last for the next few days, and then Andrew would make another sort of joke about killing himself and then Neil would ask, Andrew would promise, and they would kiss.

“Yes,” Neil said. Andrew tangled a hand in Neil’s fiery hair and pulled him over the dashboard. Neil opened his mouth and made a soft little sound that clenched at Andrew’s heart.

_ This is nothing, _ Andrew reminded himself. But every time he said it, he believed himself a little less.

_ January 20th, 2018 _

Third period. AP Lit. Neil slid into his usual seat and tapped his pen erratically against the desk. Jean took his seat to Neil’s left. Kevin and Thea were in the third row to Neil’s right. Mr. Bryson cleaned his glasses with a cloth, put them on, and said, right in front of the _ entire _ goddamn class, “Mr. Josten, may I have a word?”

Neil’s face burned. He closed his eyes and took a brief second to deal with his frustration, before standing up and following the teacher out of the classroom.

The second the door clicked shut behind them, Mr. Bryson started talking.

“I heard about what happened over winter break, Neil. I’m very sorry for your loss.” Mr. Bryson said sympathetically.

“Thank you for all of your condolences,” said Neil caustically. “What would I do without them.”

The teacher didn’t bother responding to Neil’s sarcasm. “If there’s anything I can do to make this semester easier, please just let me know. You do have extenuating circumstances, of course. All of the faculty understands.”

Extenuating. Circumstances.

Neil gave him his best passive-aggressive smile and nodded politely. “Good to know, Mr. Bryson. I think class should have started by now, though.”

Neil pushed past him, effectively ending the conversation, opened the door, and went straight to the back of the room, where he took his usual seat. The classroom, which had broken into chatter, fell absolutely silent; every eye followed Neil. Next to Neil, Andrew’s seat was empty and collecting dust. Kevin made eye contact with Neil, which Neil ignored as best he could.

Class passed in a haze. They were reading Scarlet Letter by Hawthorne. Neil let the words fade into his head like white noise and couldn’t help but remember looking over and seeing Andrew there, seeing Andrew alive and breathing and seeing and alive, alive, alive-

The bell rang.

Neil fled the classroom, but he wasn’t fast enough to escape Kevin, who called after him.

“Neil! Wait!”

Neil gave Kevin a bright smile and turned around, walking backwards. “It’s lunch break, Day. Gotta go.”

“Let me come with,” Kevin tried again, and Neil bolted for the Maserati. Right in the nick of time, Neil slid into the driver’s seat and locked all the doors. Kevin pounded at the window as Neil turned the ignition. “Neil, open the goddamn door!”

In response, Neil gunned the car out of the school parking lot. He drove absently for five minutes before finding a parking spot, propping himself up on the wheel, and screaming until his voice went hoarse.

Kevin Day managed to finally corner Neil after fifth period, right after school ended. This conversation was also inevitable, just like Allison’s was. The difference was that Neil wasn’t actively avoiding Allison like he was Kevin.

“Neil!” Kevin called after him. Neil scowled and gripped the straps of his backpack harder, speeding up and pretending that he couldn’t hear Kevin. “Neil Josten!”

Kevin sprinted towards him, and Neil gave up all pretense. Best to get it over with. “What the fuck do you want, Day?”

Kevin stopped short, probably not expecting Neil to answer, and took Neil in- eyes drowned in darkness, already whip thin but somehow still looking like he had lost weight, brittle and defiant and splintered down to his core. Neil crossed his arms impatiently.

Kevin sighed. “Why weren’t you there?”

“There for what?” Neil was being difficult on purpose. 

Kevin’s turn to scowl. “The funeral.”

“I slept in.”

“Bullshit.”

The two eyed each other for a moment, exhausted and drained and sobered. Neil seemed to accept defeat when he said, “I didn’t want to go, Kev. I just couldn’t.”

“Betsy asked about you and I didn’t know what to say.” When Neil absorbed this in silence, Kevin continued on doggedly. “You were on the list of family members, you know.”

The words sent a jolt of fire through Neil. “I wasn’t his fucking family.”

“Yes, you were.” Kevin said defiantly. “You were and every time you say you aren’t you’re lying to yourself.”

Neil opened and closed his mouth, at a loss for words. “I don’t-”

“Yes, you do.”

Neil’s eyes burned. He had already cried twice today and that was two times too many. He needed this conversation to be over fast, before he lost it again.

“I didn’t want to be there.” repeated Neil again, stubbornly fighting a losing battle.

“Yeah, I fucking get that, Neil. I didn’t want to be there either.” Kevin crossed his arms imperiously. “Don’t pretend like this doesn’t hurt you or that you don’t care. I know you do.”

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about me,” Neil hissed, suddenly so angry that his vision doubled, tripled. “You don’t know a damn thing about what I’ve been through.”

Kevin took a step back but refused to back down. “You’re right, I don’t. But I do know that you loved him, okay? You loved him.”

Neil couldn’t meet Kevin’s eyes. Instead, he gripped the sides of his hoodie and felt a pit drop in his stomach, sinking lower and lower.

_ It should’ve been me. _

Neil turned and ran, and no one could catch up with him.

_ January 19th, 2018 _

_ from: matt boyd _

_ hey neil!! _

_ from: matt boyd _

_ are you coming to practice today? _

_ from: neil josten _

_ at 4? yes _

_ from: matt boyd _

_ okay!! see you there :) _

_ October 4th, 2009 _

“This is Nathaniel- sorry, Neil, Josten. He’ll be joining us for the rest of the school year.”

Nathaniel-Neil Josten was standing shyly in front of the class. It was in fifth grade, and the entire class stared at him owlishly. Neil clamped his mouth shut and refused to speak.

“Here, why don’t you take a seat next to Kevin, Andrew, and Aaron in the back? They can show you where the art supplies are, so you can make a name tag.” Mrs. Kinnian pointed to the back table, which could seat four but only sat three. Nathaniel-Neil Josten nodded mutely and sat down anxiously. He watched Uncle Stuart give him a wave and a thumbs up before walking away, and Nathaniel-Neil bent his head and hoped to disappear.

“Hey.” Someone poked his shoulder. “Psst, hey, new kid. Is your name Nathaniel or Neil?”

One of the blond kids was talking to him. Neil swallowed nervously and said, in a tiny voice, “It’s Neil.”

“Why did Mrs. Kinnian call you Nathaniel then?” butted in the taller kid. He looked older, but maybe that was just because he was taller. His nametag said _ kevin _in very even, neat handwriting. “How come you get two names?”

“It’s, um, my old name.”

“You have an old name and a new name?” The same blond one said. Neil glanced down and saw _ aaron _written down. “Why did you pick Neil? Ooh, did you get a choice between other names?” 

“I just- I don’t know- I’m not-”

The second blond kid, the silent one, slammed a hand down in the center of the table, effectively startling all three of them into silence. “He said his name was Neil, so let’s just call him Neil. End of story.”

Neil turned, startled. The boy’s nametag read _ andrew _.

_ January 19th, 2018 _

The number was blanked out. That was the first thing that Neil noticed about the locker room. On the wall, number three was blank. It was supposed to say Minyard, but instead the roster was blank and the starting lineup on the wall was blank. The locker door was blank. Andrew Minyard had effectively been erased from the varsity Exy team at Palmetto High School.

At his left, Kevin froze as he noticed the change too.

The locker was emptied. Sometime between the end of finals and today, Betsy Dobson had been by to take Andrew’s things.

Convulsively, Neil swallowed. He thought he could handle this, but he evidently couldn’t. Kevin looked ashen to his side.

“Excuse me,” Matt said politely, and stepped past them. “You two all right- oh.”

Neil squared his shoulders and was the first to break the silence. He strode over to his locker and opened it viciously, almost wrenching it off its hinges. Of course Andrew wasn’t number three anymore because number three was fucking dead, and there was nothing anyone in the world would be able to do about it.

By the time everyone was dressed up for practice, Coach Wymack sat them down on the outside benches. He looked deflated.

“First things first, the elephant in the room. We’re going to need a new sub goalkeeper, or else we’re out of nationals.” He took in the faces of his team. “Renee, you’re now starting lineup. I’m going to hold tryouts next week and hope to God we find someone.” Wymack took in the shock on everyone’s faces when he made the announcement. Dan’s held open horror, while Kevin and Neil just looked resigned.

“Secondly, I want everyone to get together and do some team bonding over the weekend. I don’t care whether it involves talking or not, but this is mandatory. Neil-” He pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You are especially required to go, or I’m taking you off starting lineup for the next six weeks.”

“But-”

“Don’t want to hear it, Josten.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Six. Weeks.” Wymack pointed a finger at Neil, who obligingly shut up, even though his blood was boiling. Team bonding? Fuck that shit. He didn’t need team bonding. He needed-

“And,” Wymack continued on, “I’ve thought about this, but I’m not sure and I want to get a team vote before I make any final decisions.” He took a deep breath, and then, “Do we want to retire Andrew’s number?”

Neil felt his stomach rise into his throat. “Retire his number?”

Wymack nodded solemnly. “As in, no one at Palmetto High School will ever wear number three again. I’ll give you guys a second to decide. When everyone’s ready, I want ten laps before we scrimmage.”

Wymack walked away and the team formed a lopsided circle.

“We didn’t retire number five for Aaron,” Dan mentioned quietly. “It feels unfair to retire three.”

Neil turned around so fast that it felt like whiplash. “Unfair? You think it’s unfair? To retire his number? You know what’s fucking unfair, is that we’re even sitting here discussing this.” He clenched his fists. “I vote retire it. Number three is Drew’s. No one else deserves to wear it.”

Renee shook her head. “Neil, retiring three means that _no one_ will ever get the chance to wear it again. In fifteen, twenty years when all of us have moved on, the team should get the chance to move on too. I think we shouldn’t retire it. I think Andrew would be okay with someone else wearing three.”

Neil felt his face going hot and cold in turns. Something clenched in his gut, pulverizing him, splintering him down. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

Matt shot Neil a quick glance, looking apologetic. “I agree with Dan. I vote no.”

“Me too,” Kevin said suddenly. “Someone else should get to wear it. Otherwise we just- shut it off forever.” He made brief eye contact with Neil, saw the fury raging in his eyes. “Our next goalkeeper should be three.”

Nicky looked at Neil desperately. “I’m sorry, Neil. I vote no.”

“Me too,” echoed Allison, and Seth followed. The junior line said so too. Neil took one look at the people he thought were his friends, and slammed his fists into the wall of the locker room on his way out, grabbing his heavy instead of his lightweight, and flinging every ball he could find at the wall, wanting the dark curl of power in shot, the strength in each shot, wanting a fight, wanting to punch someone or hurt something, anything to get it out, get it _ out- _

“What did you say to him?” murmured Wymack, watching from the outer ring.

Dan watched grimly. “We voted against retiring. It was unanimous but one.”

Kevin stood by Dan’s side. “He didn’t take it very well.”

“I can tell that, morons.” Wymack looked at Kevin. “Day, go talk to him. Or Matt. Draw straws, I don’t care. Just get him off the court before he blows his arms out.”

Kevin opened the court door and closed it behind him fiercely. It was hard to hear what they were saying, but when Neil punched Kevin as hard as he could and then kicked him in between the legs, it was pretty clear to tell what was going on. Neil slammed his racquet into the court floor and stormed off.

Wymack called an end to practice after that.

_ November 4th, 2014 _

“So,” Neil said conversationally in German, after second period, “I hear today is your birthday.”

Andrew slammed his locker door shut and looked over at Neil flatly. In the same language, he responded slowly and brokenly, “Oh really. Who told you that?”

“Aaron Minyard.” Neil said smugly.

“That traitor.”

Neil grinned and switched back to English before his brain fried itself further. “Luckily for you, Aaron is off with Katelyn for his free period and they’re going out together for lunch, which means, you get me for _ your _ lunch break.”

Andrew raised his eyebrows. “I really won the worst jackpot in the world.”

Neil smiled. “You choose where we go for lunch. Birthday tradition.”

“Panera.” Andrew said immediately. “And you’re paying.”

“Me?” Neil put a hand on his chest, mock affronted. “I’m broke, you know this. I didn’t even get a summer job.”

“What do you want, a pity party?”

“No, I want a kiss.” Neil took a step closer. “Yes or no?”

“Yes, you junkie,” Andrew sighed. “I hate you.”

“Yes,” Neil smiled against Andrew’s lips, before closing the distance between them. “I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter deals with: suicide mentions, mentions of non/con, overdosing. take care of yourself loves, be easy on yourself.

_ September 26th, 2014 _

Neil liked whatever was going on between him and Andrew now. They finally, finally kissed on the roof around three months ago, and Neil wasn’t sure whether this was dating, or if they were together, but Neil was happy. He was truly, truly happy. 

He just hoped Andrew felt the same way.

“Hi,” Neil greeted him, sliding onto the bench next to Andrew, who shifted over slightly to give Neil more room. Across from them, Nicky and Kevin were already sitting down. Kevin was poring over an American History assignment that was due at the end of lunch break, and Nicky was frantically typing something out on his phone. Without even looking at him, Andrew’s hand found Neil’s under the table and held onto it.

“Are we not going anywhere for lunch today?” Neil asked. Nicky rolled his eyes. “Also, where’s Aaron?”

“Kevin has an APUSH assignment that he didn’t work on at all over the past two weeks, so in theory we  _ could _ go to Panera and eat decent food. But instead we’re sitting here because Kevin refuses to go and Andrew won’t go without Kevin. Aaron is in the library with _ Katelyn. _ ” 

Andrew rolls his eyes, a rare show of emotion. “He’s studying for a chemistry test. At least, that’s his excuse.” Neil understands Andrew’s comment for what it is- let’s not talk about Aaron anymore- and accepts it.

“Why doesn’t Kevin just work on his essay in the car?” Neil asked. 

“I can hear you both,” Kevin said, annoyed. “And no I cannot, because I need the front seat so I can have more room to work on it.”

Andrew scoffed. “That is such a bullshit excuse to get the front seat. Just ask the short one over here to move his seat up.” 

Neil rolled his eyes. “Me, short? That’s rich coming from you.”

Kevin grumbled. “At least us tall people need more leg room. Why do the five foot talls get the front seats?”

Andrew let go of Neil’s hand to point his plastic fork at Kevin threateningly. “One, it’s because I own the car and I drive it. Therefore, I get to choose who  _ deserves  _ the front seat. Second, wait until I kneecap you. Then you’ll regret everything you’re saying right now about short people.”

Nicky looked delighted. In staggered German, he said to Andrew and Neil, “Should we keep annoying him so he forgets about his essay?” 

Neil looked over at Andrew, who raised one eyebrow. “Should be fun, right?”

Andrew sat back in his chair. “How much trouble would he get in for not doing his essay?”

“Not that much,” Neil answered flatly, still in German. “The teacher loves him. Personally, I think Kevin should get knocked down a peg.”

“I can hear you guys say my name, you know.” Kevin complained. “It’s rude to talk about someone else when they can’t understand you.”

“Hark who’s talking,” Neil said in fluid French. “It’s not like I don’t hear you and Moreau gossip about Jeremy Knox every other day.” 

Kevin’s face flushed. “I’m not- it’s not like that-”

“Hey, Neil!” Jeremy Knox walked by, all five foot eleven inches of him. “Are you trying out for exy this year?” 

Neil not so surreptitiously kicked Kevin under the table. “Yeah. Hopefully starting striker, if Coach thinks I’m ready.” 

“I guess I’ll see you this afternoon, then.” Jeremy said confidently. And a little bit shyly: “Um, by the way, do you know if Jean is trying out too?”

Kevin had resolved to ignore Jeremy and Neil and to work on his essay, but the mention of Jean made his face turn positively scarlet. 

Neil propped his chin up with his hand. “Yeah, I think he is. Backliner, just like last year. Kevin’s been talking to him, right, Kev?”

Kevin coughed, and Nicky gave him an enthusiastic thump on the back. “Yeah, he is. I mean, I have. Yes.”

Jeremy looked as if he was holding back a laugh, but also a self satisfied smile. “Right. See you later, Neil.” 

Kevin slumped onto the table. Andrew leaned forward on his elbows and said matter of factly, “That was embarrassing.”

“Tell me about it,” Kevin groused. “Is he into Jean? Neil, please tell me he’s not into Jean.” 

Neil let out a slow breath. “I hate to break it to you, but he’s definitely into Jean.”

The bell rang. Kevin looked in horror at his essay, which was half done and full of grammatically incomplete sentences. Nicky peered over to read what he had written and winced. “Wow, that sucks. I hope your grade doesn’t drop.” 

Kevin closed his eyes for a moment, as if reevaluating all of his life choices, and then stood up abruptly to shove everything into his backpack and head off to American History. Nicky followed off to AP German a moment after, and left Andrew and Neil alone at the table.

“That was fun,” Neil prompted. “Annoying Kevin is my favorite pastime.” 

Andrew shrugged. “I’ll neither confirm nor deny whether it was fun or not.” 

“That’s practically confirmation that you enjoyed it,” Neil teased. 

“Yes or no?” Andrew said suddenly. It seemed like a non sequitur, but Neil recognized it for what it was. Andrew wanted confirmation in their relationship that it was going to stay the way it was. Neil knew that, and knew that Andrew didn’t do things impulsively. 

Neil smiled. “Yes. It’ll always be yes.” 

Andrew tilted Neil’s chin up for a kiss, and Neil knew that Andrew could feel his grin. 

_ September 26th, 2018 _

Neil’s college dorm was embarrassingly empty when the rest of the Foxes came to visit. Matt and Dan came there on Friday, but everyone else was planning to come Saturday morning for the weekend. Neil had been at South Carolina State for about three weeks. Out of the varsity exy team, Kevin, Jean, Jeremy, and Neil had been scouted for college level exy, and Neil was the only one to stay in South Carolina. Kevin had gone to UCLA, and both Jean and Jeremy had gone to USC. Practices had started over the summer, and their coach had nothing but positive praise for him. He liked how Neil put his all into the court, and avoided distractions that could take away from his performance. Neil didn’t have the heart to tell him why.

“Seriously, Neil?” Dan demanded when she first saw his dorm. “It’s been three weeks and you have zero pictures up. You don’t even have a duvet cover.”

Neil rolled his eyes. “Why bother decorating? I’m going to move out in ten months, anyway.”

“Ten months is a while,” Matt said soothingly. “Come on, just let us put some stuff up for you. Where are your pictures?”

“They’re all at home,” Neil said stiffly. “I don’t have any pictures that aren’t with Andrew.”

Matt closed his mouth abruptly, suddenly keenly aware of the bags under Neil’s eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. “We’ll just take more, okay?” 

Neil was bullied into going out to lunch with them. Dan talked enthusiastically about the job that she had gotten over the summer and the volunteer hours she had done working with kids in shelters; Matt had traveled to Italy with his mom and enjoyed the pasta. Vaguely, Neil said “mhm” and “yeah” when it seemed appropriate, and listened as attentively as he could. Dan’s words eventually washed over him nonetheless. 

“Neil, you still with me?”

He hadn’t realized that his gaze had been fixed on the same spot for probably five minutes at least, maybe more. His hand had been unconsciously tracing the outline of his key to Columbia. When Neil looked up, Dan and Matt were staring at him with something close to pity in their eyes. 

Neil had long since cried himself out, and had exhausted himself of all the grief he ever felt. It was infuriating though, to feel like other people still treated him as broken. Yes, it was hard for him to become friends with people he didn’t know. Even three weeks into college, he avoided talking to his roommate as much as possible. The therapist that Bee had recommended for him even admitted that she couldn’t help Neil if Neil wasn’t willing to help himself.

Neil responded to her disappointed glances by scowling at the floor and avoiding all forms of eye contact. 

“Yeah, I’m still here,” he said. Dan and Matt looked at each other for a moment, before Dan leaned forward and braced her elbows on the table. 

Dan looked to Matt, as if she needed support, before starting to talk. “Neil, I know this past year has been hard for you. And it’s been hard for me too, and for pretty much everyone. I don’t know what to do anymore.” She cleared her throat briefly, and continued.

“Losing Andrew sucks. And I’m here for you, no matter what. Okay, Neil? Please reach out more. I want to see you be happy again, the way you were last year.”

Her voice held no trace of pity, but the words stirred up a sickening sediment in Neil. He didn't want her compassion or her empathy. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember asking for your condescending pity,” Neil spat out. “I didn’t come here to get lectured about how well  _ I  _ should be dealing. You want a happy, fake version of me? Fine. Go find yourself another Neil Josten. While you’re at it, go pick up a new attitude too.” The anger coursing through Neil was vicious and unending, and it raged through him, bleeding out of every cut and bruise. He couldn’t find the energy in him to care about the shocked looks on Dan and Matt’s face, but the anger was abated only slightly by slamming the door behind him. 

Matt slumped down on the table. The waiter cheerfully traveled by with three plates, but stopped short when she saw the body count had moved down to two.

“Everything good over here?” she asked cautiously. 

Dan gave a wry smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It could be better.”

_ June 14th, 2018 _

The room wasn’t ugly by any means, but stereotypical enough to make Neil feel uncomfortable.

Erica Duarte sat in front of him, in a plush armchair, and Neil had the couch opposite her. The room was soft, pale blues and yellows, and sunlight filtered in through the window blinds; it had the distinct set up of someone who wanted their patients to feel open, calm, and reassured. It had the opposite effect on Neil. The windows meant that anyone could be listening or looking in, and Neil would have no way of knowing, and the sofa was positioned so that Neil’s back was to the door. It made him feel infinitely vulnerable, like there was nowhere to hide. Maybe that was the point of seeing a therapist, but Neil hated it if it was.

“Hi, Neil,” Erica had greeted when Neil knocked. “Feel free to sit anywhere.”

Neil had sat down cautiously, crossing his legs and hoping that he was sending off waves of  _ don’t talk to me.  _ Unfortunately, Erica had experience in this realm and wasn’t fazed by it. 

Do you want to tell me a little bit about yourself?” she asked. She reminded Neil of Betsy, but only a little bit. Her attitude, maybe. It was oddly calming. 

“I’m only here because this is a last option,” is what Neil started with. Erica raised one eyebrow, but said nothing. “Half a year ago, maybe more, someone who was close to me died, and I can’t cope with it very well.” Neil waited a moment, before continuing. “I’m starting college in two months, and I’ve never been without my friends before. None of them are coming to SCS with me.”

Erica listened intently to every word, before asking, “By SCS, you mean South Carolina State, right?” Neil nodded in response. “You said this was a last option. Can you explain more? Have you seen other therapists, maybe?” 

“I just-” Neil spread his hands and searched for the best words to say it. “I don’t like therapy, and the first therapist I saw told me that she couldn’t take me. My friends have been telling me that I’m taking my anger out on them, and I don’t want to make them hurt anymore than they already are.”

“Do you feel like you’re taking your anger out on them?” Erica asked him, prodding more. 

Neil thought about her question for a moment- the way he had punched Kevin after their last argument, slamming his exy racquet against the wall and storming off the court, and shied away from Erica’s prying gaze. 

“I don’t really see it.” 

Her eyes were boring into him, and an odd emotion surged in his chest- a mix of bitterness, the humiliation that came from lying, and the familiar grief that had never ceased. It was too much for him to meet Erica’s eyes again for the rest of the session. 

When the clock hit the hour mark, Neil left the room, trying to ignore the shaking in his hands, and resolved to never see a therapist again.

_ June 5th, 2018 _

Neil knew something was up when Betsy arrived at the door to his house. Betsy rarely knocked; she had had a key to Stuart’s house ever since Neil and Andrew first became friends. He hadn’t even seen Betsy recently. The last time they had civil words with each other was when Neil graduated high school, complete with the orange and white graduation gowns. Jeremy Knox was valedictorian, because of course he would be valedictorian. Neil promptly got his diploma, threw his hat in the air, and vanished before people could take pictures. 

Betsy was standing at the door, with a box in her hands. When Neil hesitantly opened the door, Betsy handed him a cardboard box. Neil nearly dropped it, not expecting how heavy it would be.

“Can I come in?” Betsy asked cautiously. It was such a strange twist from her usual actions in Stuart’s house that Neil stumbled over his words to invite her in. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how much of a mother figure Betsy had become for him. She was everything his mother was not.

Neil stared down at the cardboard box in his hands. It was labeled  _ from andrew  _ in slanted sophomore year script. Neil instantly knew what it was. 

Throat thick, he unfolded the cardboard to see a variety of glass sculptures wrapped in bubble wrap and stored neatly away. They used to be lined up evenly on Bee’s shelves in her office. 

“I..." whispered Neil. “Are you sure?”

Betsy smiled sadly but it was lined with pain. “They’re yours. I can’t- I think he would want you to have them.”

Neil looked inside the box again before closing it resolutely. “Do you not want to keep them?”

“They have too many memories attached to them,” Betsy said firmly. “I’m finding it hard to move on when so many things remind me of Andrew and Aaron, and I think you could benefit from them much more than I can.”

Neil took Bee’s glass collection of figurines. Andrew had treasured them, bought every one with intent, dusted each one off before giving it to Bee. Neil took them back to Stuart’s house.

He hurled each one at the wall of his house. The crash they made did nothing to ease the wild, ferocious anger in his chest. 

He imagined that every figurine was one of Andrew’s traumas:

Drake shoving Andrew into a dark room.  _ Crash. _

Bipolar.  _ Crash.  _ A terrier barking.

Aaron’s overdose.  _ Crash.  _ A robin crushed into tiny, tinkling pieces.

His first foster father.  _ Crash.  _ A swan bending its head.

Neil kept throwing, until his shoulder burned from the force of which he was throwing each figurine. He never seemed to run out of ideas. Every time he thought of one, more and more popped up, until there were millions, millions of things that Neil had never even thought about trying to fix. Who did he think he was? Some sort of hero? Some sort of miracle worker who could magically make all of the trauma go away?

He reached the bottom of the box and pulled out the first figurine. A clear glass sculpture of a fox, sitting up proudly, two perked ears, a fluffed up tail. Neil had picked this out with Andrew a few days before the end of summer vacation, when they were both fourteen. Four years ago. 

Neil gripped it so tightly he thought it might shatter in his hand. He had pointed it out to Andrew, sitting on the shelf, and Andrew had smiled, a soft smile Neil had barely ever seen on his face before, and Neil reached up and pulled it down, because even then he was still taller than Andrew. 

It was  _ theirs.  _

Neil lifted his arm up, and threw it with as much force as he could muster, and watched it shatter into millions of tiny glass shards on the back porch. 

Fuck Andrew. Fuck Andrew for leaving him alone.

_ January 20th, 2015 _

Andrew and Aaron weren’t at school. They hadn’t been for the past week. Neil was only slightly worried, because of course this had happened before. Flu season was a little bit later in the year, but there was always the possibility that they had just come down with a virus slightly earlier. Betsy was overprotective enough to let them skip a few days if they genuinely couldn’t make it. The one thing about the scenario that left Neil feeling anxious was that Andrew refused to talk to him. Every call and text was ignored, no matter how much Neil attempted to contact him. It left an acrid taste of worry in Neil’s mouth, but he did his best to suppress that anxiety. Realistically, he told himself, everything would be alright.

Two days later, Neil gave up on waiting and took matters into his own hands. Kevin was starting to ask probing questions that Neil had no way of answering, and Neil was tired of being in the dark on the situation. He called Betsy resolutely, and she picked up on the fifth ring. 

“Neil,” she said, sounding stilted and tired beyond her years. “How have you been?”

Neil gritted his teeth. “I’m good. Are Andrew and Aaron okay?”

The silence that followed was deafening and pressed in on Neil’s ears. Betsy took a few seconds too long before replying slowly, “Andrew is fine. He’s struggling, but he’ll make it through.” 

_ And Aaron _ ? Neil almost wanted to say, but he held back. Betsy sounded like she was seconds away from slipping. Her silence about Aaron was an answer in itself. Instead, he said stiltedly, “That’s good.”

“Would you rather hear it from me or from Andrew?” Betsy responded suddenly. 

It wasn’t what Neil was expecting, but he would take it nonetheless. Whatever the news was, he didn’t know if Andrew would tell him or not, but one way or another, he would hear it. If Andrew found out that Betsy was telling Neil his secrets and promises, it would wreck them both, and the collateral damage would be unfixable. The answer was easy, when Neil answered  _ Andrew.  _ Betsy took his answer with a calm silence, and hung up. 

Neil fumbled with his phone to call Andrew, hoping that Andrew would finally find it in him to pick up. Betsy must have told Andrew that Neil was about to call, because with only a few seconds to spare until voicemail, Andrew picked up. 

The click showed that Andrew was listening, but the silence buzzed uncomfortably between them.

“Andrew, are you okay?” Neil’s voice was hesitant. He almost didn’t want to know what had just happened, but he plodded on regardless.

Andrew’s response was blunt. “Aaron is dead.” 

The call fell silent again, but the silence seemed so much louder than before. Neil felt like his heart had stopped beating in his chest.

“Five days ago. Heroin overdose.” His voice was splintered and brittle. “I won’t be back for a few days.”

Neil finally found his voice. “Is there going to be a funeral?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Andrew hung up. Neil wished he could do the same. 

The next week at school, they had an assembly about looking out for your loved ones, noticing warning signs that they might be struggling. The entire school was called into the auditorium, and Neil and Andrew sat sandwiched between Dan and Matt as if, impossibly, Dan and Matt could be their armor. Andrew’s grip on Neil’s hand was so tight that if Neil had looked down, he would see white fingers. 

It wasn’t a funeral, and no one explicitly mentioned Aaron Minyard’s name, but that was the most spoken word for the next two weeks at school. Of course, the only people who knew the complete truth of what had happened were Andrew, Neil, and Betsy, but the rumors raged regardless.

At that assembly, everyone got packets on depressive symptoms, or signs that your friend might need help. The suicide hotline was outlined in red on every door, every locker, every wall, every room. Teachers would ask if everyone was okay before starting the class, as if anyone would ever answer truthfully. People looked at Andrew in the hall between classes, and Neil took to snapping angrily at anyone who dared to ask, or even looked curiously at him for too long. 

It was the longest month of Neil’s life. Andrew was motionless throughout it.

_ October 5th, 2016 _

The call came right after fifth period, right as school ended.

It took Neil a few seconds to dig his phone out of the depths of his backpack and to detangle it from his headphones, but when he saw the caller ID, he picked up immediately. 

Nicky looked curiously at Kevin, who frowned back. They were halfway to the Maserati at that point; after school exy practices hadn’t started yet, so no one had a reason to stay late. Kevin’s anxiety was already running rampant at the thought of a unit test the next day and constantly proclaimed that he needed to study, and Nicky just wanted to leave school. Neither of them knew who, besides Andrew, would be calling Neil out of the blue. Hell, they had never even seen Neil even use his phone.

“What?” Neil said, and turned slightly away so that Nicky and Kevin wouldn’t hear. “I just got out of school. Yeah, I’m fine.” There was silence for a few seconds, someone speaking on the other end, and Neil froze. “That’s not possible. He’s  _ sick.  _ The flu. He told me so.” 

Someone on the end of the line responded, and Neil’s face drained of blood. 

“Where are you at?” Neil gave them a second to respond, and then said, “I don’t care. I don’t  _ care.  _ I’m coming in fifteen minutes.” He hung up abruptly and slowly put his phone away, but it was easy for Nicky to see the dreadful shaking of his hands.

“Who was that?” Kevin pushed, the second Neil looked his way. “Where are you going?”

Neil swallowed coarsely, not answering Kevin, but he did say, “I can’t drive you guys back right now. Can you get rides with someone else?” 

Kevin flicked an uneasy glance to Nicky, who shrugged. “I can ask Matt.”

“Good.” Neil’s mind was filled with a tinny buzzing that he couldn’t place for a moment, but was relentless in his ears. “I’ve got to go.”

It took him seventeen minutes to reach Betsy, and each one was agonizingly slow. The emergency room was a roiling crowd of people, and it took him too long to find Betsy Dobson among them. 

“He’s having his stomach pumped.” Betsy told him once he arrived. Her fingers tapped the plastic armrests on the chair, eyes on the receptionists’ desks. “He took two bottles of Tylenol and three weeks of antidepressants and was close to bleeding out. The doctors said that if it wasn’t for the pizza we ate last night lining his stomach, he would be dead.” Each word struck Neil’s head like the heavy blow of an ax, regardless of the way Betsy tried to frame them.

_ Two bottles. Three weeks. He would be dead.  _

Neil’s vision tunneled. 

“He’s alive, Neil.” Her words were quiet. “That’s all that matters right now. I wanted to let you know.”

“He won’t be happy that I’m here.”

“Quite frankly, Neil, I’m not happy that you’re here either. You’re not responsible for his life, and I hope you know that.” Betsy took a moment, before continuing. “This is a lot for you to bear, and I want you to know that you’re not alone.”

It was more for Andrew to bear, Neil thought. Waste your pity on someone else.

Neil closed his eyes and wished for home. 

“Andrew Minyard?” 

The name jolted Neil out of his fitful sleep. Betsy was already standing up, scrubbing the sleep out of her eyes, but her exhaustion was underpinned by the anxiety ricocheting through her. 

“That’s us,” Neil said quickly. The nurse looked between the two of them, her eyes fixating on Neil’s scars for just a moment too long, before turning around and gesturing for them to follow her. The hospital was white and tan, and inside the emergency room, there were no windows. It was impossible to tell whether it was five in the afternoon or five in the morning, and Neil thought that no matter what time it was, the hallways would be just as busy as they were then. 

Andrew’s room was covered by a thin curtain, and inside it was identical to some of the other rooms they had just walked by. A metal bed pinned to the center of the room, where Andrew was, two plastic chairs to the left of the bed, and an array of medical equipment and tubing streaking out from behind the bed. Andrew was sitting up in bed, eyes watchful and alert, and seemed to tense up once he saw Betsy and Neil come in. 

Neil took a seat and pushed it up so that he was right by Andrew’s bed, his hand easily able to stretch to the bed. The nurse let Neil take his seat, and then asked to talk to Betsy outside. 

Andrew had still said nothing, 

How did you start a conversation like this? Neil knew that it would be callous to simply ask if he was okay.

“Andrew?” he started tentatively. Andrew blinked slowly, as if coming back to reality, the fuzziness leaving his eyes. When Andrew wouldn’t look at him, Neil persisted on, “Andrew, come back to me.” There was no response, but Neil could read the tension and discomfort in Andrew’s frame. If Neil didn’t accept this nonverbal  _ no,  _ then the fallout would be damaging. Andrew wasn’t giving consent to talking, and Neil accepted that at face value. They sat in uneasy silence until Betsy ducked behind the curtain and into the room again. Unfortunately for Andrew, or fortunately, Betsy was not so willing to accept Andrew’s silence. 

She prodded him into speaking, but when that didn’t work, began listing the facts of the situation, what she had come home to. Neil saw the muscle twitching in Andrew’s cheek, and wisely stayed silent. 

Andrew turned to Neil, and the darkness in his eyes took Neil’s breath away. “I don’t want her here." They were the first words he had said since he had woken up. 

Betsy leaned forward and leveled a glance at him, and Andrew finally met her gaze. She tapped her own forearm knowingly, and refused to break eye contact with Andrew until he stubbornly scowled and looked down. “How long has this been going on?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” were Andrew’s next, harsher words. 

“Don’t lie to me, Andrew Joseph Minyard!” she said, visibly shaking. 

“I want her out,” Andrew said tightly. “I need her out.” He was speaking more to Neil than to Betsy, and Neil flicked a glance up to Betsy, his eyes hooded and dark. Betsy’s face looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to a mirror, then run the mirror through a paper shredder, and had tried to see their reflection in the broken remains. 

“We’ll leave you alone,” Neil said quietly. He reached out for Andrew’s hand, and silently waited for a yes or no. In response, Andrew twitched his hand away and retreated back to the dark corner inside himself, where nothing could reach him, and no one could ever see how much he was hurting.

Neil hated the way, when he returned to school the next day, that Kevin stared at him for a second too long, before cornering him and asking him quietly, “Is Andrew alive?”

“Yes,” was Neil’s shaky response, and he slid down the wall to sit, arms curled around his knees, Kevin next to him. 

_ February 10th, 2018 _

“Goalkeeper tryouts are this afternoon,” Wymack said evenly. “We need you there.”

Neil paused from his locker, before resolutely pulling out another textbook and slamming it shut. “And if I’m not?”

“Unfortunately, that would be a violation of the contract you signed when you tried out for the varsity team, and the school would be forced to drop you from the exy team.” Wymack responded. His words were matter of fact, but they burned coming out. Neil felt dizzy.

“Are you threatening me?” he said unsteadily, mind spinning. “I’m going to be kicked off the team?”

He couldn’t even imagine the possibility. Sure, he had missed the last practice, and the one before that, but exy was his life, the one thing he looked forward to everyday. 

Wymack waited until Neil faced him fully before continuing on doggedly. “I don’t want to make this call, Josten. The school board isn’t giving you enough time to recover, and I don’t believe in the idea that recovery is short and easy. But they’re taking this out of my hands, and I want you on this team.”

It didn’t even cross Neil’s mind to refuse. “I’ll be there,” he said brusquely. Wymack was right on some level; he couldn’t really afford to miss any more practices if he wanted the team to make it to nationals. 

At 4:15 PM after fifth period, Neil slotted his helmet on and went to the half court line. 

Neil tightened the straps on his gear, gripped his racquet tighter, and crouched into the ready position. He watched Dan lift the ball up out of the corners of his eyes, before she slammed it down court to him. The first five shots he sent hit home, in each of the cardinal corners, and one in the center, and the goalkeeper fumbled each one. Neil frowned. It was going to be a rough, and extremely long hour.

She was no Andrew, but nEventually, after forty five minutes, Dan had found a good goalkeeper; her name was Robin Cross, and she was a junior. She blocked four out of five shots a good ninety percent of the time, and had some obvious mistakes in form, but she was determined. 

No one, not even Renee, would be Andrew. 

Neil stopped short for a second, his mind revolving over the thought he had just had. Maybe Robin didn’t need to be Andrew, though. Maybe she could just be herself, as flawed or as perfect as she needed. No one was Andrew, so why should Neil compare two things that could never be compared?

It was a start, Neil thought, suppressing the first flicker of happiness he had felt in two months. It was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is late bc i have another au lined up that im obsessed with. also on a different continent rn so wifi is spotty at best! ill try to update asap, but no promises.

**Author's Note:**

> if you haven’t had the chance to see the play every brilliant thing, please take an hour out of your day to watch it on youtube. it is truly life changing.


End file.
